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Showing posts with label seasons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seasons. Show all posts

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Skywatch Friday: take it easy

Behold, my kinda' sky: blue, calm, nicely tinting the lake below it.  September on one of Minnesota's 10,000 lakes has a melancholy aspect that maybe only I can see, but. . .
Ernest Hemingway mentions the contrast between spring and fall he experienced in Paris in   
 A Moveable Feast:
With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This is the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen...

Visit more skies @ Skywatch Friday, after which I hope you'll set down your burdens and enjoy the Labor Day weekend with my best wishes!

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving!

For all that has been--Thanks!

For all that shall be--Yes!
Dag Hammarskjöld


Its time familiar time to gather my dear fledglings--near and far, stuff the turkey, eat pie, sigh with contentment and look forward to the holiday time soon upon us. Wishing you all a day of peace and plenty. When I count my blessings you will be on my list!

Friday, September 19, 2008

Sunday Scribblings, R.S.V.P.

Spring wobbled in brand new heels
And took the stairs gleefully,
Dropping petals that
Floated softly away.

Summer sat at the end of the table
Picking flowers from a vase.
Pulling petal from stem, entwined,
Moon blushed smile.

Fragrant ribbons unrolled across the floor
As Autumn’s velvet skirts swayed,
Pouring wine in upturned glasses
Intoxicating their dreams.

Sated eyes watched the doors and
Lips silently repeated the clock’s ring
The slow waltz of regret and wondering played,
Waiting for Winter to accept the invitation.



Visit Sunday Scribblings for more takes on the prompt 'invitation.'